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		Are fishing ponds the new golf courses? Lincolnshire Echo - August 6 2003 Planners and environmentalists used to get hot under the collar over golf courses, which seemed to be springing up everywhere. Where most of us saw landscaped fairways and beautifully tended greens, they saw excessive use of fertilisers and pesticides, chemical run-off, and an artificial, manicured landscape replacing prime agricultural land. Perhaps there was also a subconscious prejudice against what was perceived as an elitist sport. Now we seem to have another encroachment on agricultural land. Where I live, in the Fernie country, it is starting to look as though fishing ponds are the new golf courses. Old meadows and arable fields are giving way to carefully excavated fishing lakes, and a steady stream of fishermen sit by them for hours, catching the fish, putting them in keep-nets, and later returning them to the relative freedom of the lakes. Personally I can't see the point of catching fish except to eat them, but each to his own. With an estimated three million anglers in the UK, at least no one can complain that fishing is elitist. Half a mile from my village, on one of my regular dog-walking routes, a local entrepreneur has built a pair of fishing lakes. At first I was sad to see a perfectly good meadow excavated and prettified. But he has done such a super job with the landscaping and tree-planting, that I have come round to the idea, and become a fan. The two lakes, on different levels, wind round in serpentine shapes. Reeds and water plants grow at the margins. The grass around the lakes is carefully mown, and a range of trees, from willows to copper beeches, are planted in neat lines around and between the lakes. Ducks swim, fishes jump, Canada geese occasionally visit, and recently we've even had a few sea-gulls, though they're a long way from the sea. As a further business diversification, the owner is able to put a marquee beside the car-park and offer hospitality events. I recently attended a village wedding reception there. The location is just about perfect - close enough to the village to walk home, but far enough for the discotheque loudspeakers not to be a problem! On a peninsula surrounded by water, the owner has put a seat, where I occasionally sit while dog-walking at the week-end. In the early morning there is scarcely anyone to be seen, and it feels almost as though a landscape garden has been created just for my benefit. The view extends over the two lakes, through the trees, and on up to the owner's home and office. Close by his house, he has put up a huge flagpole, which must be forty feet high, and every day he flies a very large Union Jack, which he is careful to put the right way up. (You've probably heard the one-liner about how to ensure you fly the Union Jack the right way up - the label saying "Made in China" should be at the bottom!). The flag is a heart-warming sight, and not just because it provides a focal point for the view. This is the flag that was flown with pride, and defended with blood, on the battlefields of Waterloo and Rorke's Drift, at El Alamein and Port Stanley. Are we now to take it down, and replace it with the flag of surrender, the wretched circle of yellow stars on blue? Not on my watch, we're not. Not on my watch.